The sun hadn't yet risen, but the Academy stirred in restless pockets.
Somewhere beyond the frost-glazed windows, bells slept beneath silence. But inside the dormitory wing reserved for scholarship students and "low-bloods," warmth pooled from enchanted hearths, flickering softly against cracked stone walls and worn, hand-stitched quilts.
Maria still Marin Velyn to them sat up before the first breath of morning. No dreams had woken her, though they lingered still. Just that familiar tug in her chest, that invisible current that pulled her to move before the world caught her still.
She stood quietly, slipping her feet into rough boots, her braid half-loose and uneven. The room was shared by five other girls. One snored like a cursed dragon. Another mumbled soft sleep-spells that pulsed lazily from her open notebook.
Maria padded across the stone floor, careful not to make the planks creak.
She reached for her scarf, the plain grey one no sigils, no house crest and pulled it tight around her neck.
Not to hide.
Just to remember the silence she liked to carry.
"If you wake me again before sunrise," a voice muttered, "I'm going to enchant your boots to scream with every step."
Maria turned.
Arem leaned sideways from his bunk in the corner alcove, his curls tousled, a fennel stalk tucked between his teeth like always. He looked half-asleep and fully amused.
"I didn't even make noise," Maria whispered.
"You breathe guilty," he said, yawning. "Which means something's happening today."
She shrugged. "I like the quiet."
"And the quiet likes you back," he said, voice muffled as he pulled the covers over his head. "Still. Watch your back. It's Trial day."
Maria stilled.
"What?"
Arem peeked out from under his blanket.
"The Trial of Masks. Headmistress is announcing it this morning. Big fancy magic thing. One part illusion, two parts humiliation."
"Why?"
"Tradition," he said, sitting up. "We're at a school where they think trauma builds character. You'll love it."
Down the corridor, two girls argued in hissing whispers about who would outshine whom at breakfast. Somewhere in the boy's wing, a potion exploded again.
Maria pulled on her outer cloak and made for the stairs.
And still, that tug in her chest deepened.
Not anxiety.
Not even dread.
Something... waiting.
Like the stars were holding their breath.
The dining hall of Celestia Academy was, at this hour, a strange kind of chaos half elegance, half mischief.
Gleaming chandeliers hovered over long tables of polished obsidian wood. Each table bore the sigils of a different House, though this morning, the students ignored them in favor of whispered bets and wide-eyed speculation.
The air shimmered faintly enchanted to stay warm even when the outside winds roared down from the mountains. Plates refilled themselves, bread crusts floated like lazy boats in bowls of pumpkin-marrow stew, and a single fork drifted mournfully above one girl's head, stuck mid-charm.
"You tried to animate it again?" someone asked, smirking.
"It attacked me yesterday," the girl whispered. "I think it holds a grudge."
Maria entered quietly, her scarf still damps with morning frost.
She slipped into a seat at the far end of the table, away from the loudest cliques. Arem appeared beside her seconds later with two apples, one of which he immediately began juggling.
"Ten gold says today is the Trial."
"You already told me," Maria said.
"But now I'm certain."
A shadow fell across the room.
All chatter stopped.
Headmistress Althara entered, flanked by two highwardens whose armor flickered with protective sigils. Her robes rustled like parchment in wind threaded with strands of living ivy and star-colored silk.
She moved like an omen.
When she reached the central platform, she didn't need to raise her voice. The room had already bent to her silence.
"This morning," she said, "marks the approach of the Equinox Veil."
A hush. Students glanced at each other. The Equinox only happened once a year and it was always followed by...
"As tradition demands, the first-year Trial shall be held this eve."
A tremor of excitement rippled through the hall.
"You will be tested not by spell or sword, but by the mirror. You will wear a mask. You will face what you reveal."
"It will not be graded," she continued. "It will be remembered."
A boy across from Maria groaned softly.
"I hate this one," he muttered. "Last year my brother's mask showed him weeping over a rabbit."
"Didn't he end up in therapy?" asked someone else.
"Do not attempt to deceive the mirror," the Headmistress said, her eyes narrowing. "It does not reward bravado. It does not fear nobility. It knows only truth and what lies beneath it."
Arem leaned close to Maria, whispering:
"That's her scary voice. It means someone's going to cry."
"Probably you," Maria replied.
He grinned.
The Headmistress lifted her staff. The ivy on her robes stirred as if sensing wind from another realm.
"The Trial will begin at twilight, in the upper courtyard. Attend as you are. Leave your illusions behind."
She turned.
Then paused.
Looked directly unnervingly at Maria.
Just for a second.
And then she walked away.
Around Maria, students exploded into speculation.
"She looked right at you."
"No, she looked at Faye."
"No, she looked through all of us and saw our crumbling potential."
"Ugh, I hate mirror trials. Mine's going to turn into my father."
"Mine's going to turn into you," one girl purred at another.
"Gross," she replied. "You wish."
Maria sat very still.
She hadn't touched her apple.
Arem poked her arm with his fork.
"You, okay?"
"Fine," she lied.
But in her chest, something stirred.
Like a thread pulled taut.
Like a mask already watching her before she'd even put it on.
High above the dining hall beyond the noise, the magic, the gossip and floating forks Seraphina Valmont watched from behind a veil of enchanted glass.
The observatory spire was warm with trapped sunlight and old memory. A dozen illusion-orbs hovered near the ceiling, showing moments from below in ghostly threads of light: laughter, eye-rolls, sly notes passed under the table.
But Seraphina wasn't looking at any of that.
Her eyes were fixed on a girl at the outermost table.
Quiet. Pale-haired. Head slightly bowed. Wrapped in gray.
Marin Velyn.
But Seraphina didn't believe in coincidences.
"She wakes before the bells," said her steward, Virell, stepping beside her with a clipboard.
"Attends every class. Speaks to few. No known house sponsors her enrollment."
"And yet," Seraphina murmured, "she's still here."
She leaned closer to the glass, her green eyes narrowing.
"Have her file pulled. Quietly. I want to know what she isn't telling us."
"You suspect her of... something?" Virell asked carefully.
"I suspect the universe doesn't put broken stars in our path for nothing."
Below, the Headmistress made her announcement. Students murmured and mocked.
And still, Maria Velyn sat perfectly still.
"She doesn't flinch," Seraphina said.
"That could mean strength."
"It could mean trauma," she replied. "Or control. Or prophecy. Or... luck."
"Do you believe in luck, Your Highness?"
"No," Seraphina said, and her voice was soft steel.
"I believe in omens."
She turned from the glass at last and crossed the marble floor of her observatory, her cloak whispering behind her like wind over ancient glass.
Outside, the sky was turning the color of fire-lit wine.
Twilight was coming.
And with it, the mirror.
By twilight, the upper courtyard had transformed.
Stone lanterns burned with quiet flame, casting long shadows across the worn mosaic floor. Marble benches ringed the ritual circle, while ancient columns loomed overhead, etched with runes so old even the professors had stopped translating them.
At the center, on a low pedestal, stood the Veiled Mirror tall, silver-edged, rippling faintly like water caught in starlight.
Next to it: a simple black pedestal bearing the masks.
They were smooth, silver, blank as snowfall.
They pulsed faintly waiting.
A hush rippled through the crowd as Headmistress Althara stepped forward.
Her voice, though soft, carried to every corner.
"The Trial of Masks is not a test of magic or merit."
"It is a mirror of will. What you wear, it reflects. What you hide, it reveals. And what you fear... it may show."
"Step forward when your name is called. And do not lie to the mask. It knows."
The first names passed in nervous waves:
"Calyra of Stormbridge."
The girl stepped forward, trembling. Her mask bloomed into a crown of gold flowers. The crowd gasped.
"Valen Dore."
His mask split into twin faces, smirking and frowning in turn. He bowed theatrically. Someone clapped.
"Arem of Crestdown."
His mask turned inside out, then upside down, then dissolved entirely. Arem shrugged.
"Interpret that however you want," he muttered, returning to laughter.
Then:
"Maria Velyn."
The air changed.
Somewhere, a wind stirred though no leaves moved.
Maria stepped forward, slowly.
Her boots tapped against ancient stone.
She stopped before the pedestal.
Her fingers hovered over the mask.
It was warm.
Too warm.
She lifted it.
Fitted it to her face.
Everything fell silent.
The world... blinked.
The courtyard blurred.
For a moment just a breath Maria was not standing there.
A figure stood in her place.
Wreathed in flame.
Crowned in silver roots.
Eyes like shattered stars.
A goddess, ancient and unfinished.
The mask flashed white-hot.
The Veiled Mirror cracked not shattered, but splintered, like it had just remembered something it wished it hadn't.
A few students gasped.
Someone whispered:
"Did you see that? She, she glowed"
Maria tore the mask off.
It crumbled in her hands, turning to dust that smelled faintly of lightning and lilies.
She didn't speak.
Didn't move.
She simply walked away.
The crowd erupted half in whispers, half in confusion.
"Was that supposed to happen?"
"What was that?"
"Did anyone else see ?"
"Maybe it was a trick. She cheated. Commoners always cheat."
Up above, in her hidden observatory, Seraphina stood slowly.
Her hand had clenched around the balcony edge.
Her pulse was calm.
Her mind was not.
"She's not a commoner," she said under her breath.
"She's a question."
Back in the crowd, Arem watched Maria vanish down the corridor.
His playful smile was gone.
He looked worried.
"That mask didn't lie," he muttered.
"But I think it saw more than even she wanted."
The path back to the dormitory was quiet, save for the soft click of Maria's boots and the strange flutter in her chest that still hadn't settled.
The courtyard had erupted the moment she left half laughter, half silence, all confusion.
She'd felt it.
The moment her mask dissolved, the world exhaled.
And then watched.
She pushed the door open to her room.
The hearth had gone cold.
Someone maybe Talia or Jessahad left a spellbook open, and it now hovered inches above its page like a sleeping bird.
Maria sat down hard on her bed.
The crumbled dust of the mask still clung to her fingertips, faintly glowing. She tried to wipe it off on her skirt, but it shimmered back stubborn magic.
"What did they see?" she whispered.
She didn't remember everything only the heat.
The pressure.
That other face staring out through the mask's silver.
It hadn't been hers.
But it hadn't been a stranger's either.
A soft knock at the door.
"You alive?" Arem's voice, muffled and half-joking.
She didn't answer.
The door creaked open anyway.
Arem stepped inside with a steaming mug of something warm and sweet-smelling.
"I brought bribe-tea," he said, holding it out. "My grandma's recipe. For post-traumatic trial aftermath."
Maria took it.
Didn't sip.
Just held it.
"What did you see?" she asked quietly.
Arem hesitated.
"I saw a girl wearing a mask," he said. "And then I saw something else wearing her."
"I didn't do anything," she said. "I didn't"
"I know," he said, surprisingly serious now. "That's the scary part."
From across the hall, a door slammed.
A girl muttered, "Witch," under her breath.
Another: "That's what happens when you let gutterblood into starstone halls."
Maria flinched.
Arem didn't react.
He just set down the mug beside her and stood.
"Rest," he said softly. "Tomorrow the real whispers start."
That night, Maria lay in bed, eyes wide open.
The glowing dust finally faded.
But her pulse still hummed like a thread being pulled through the stars.
And outside, across the Academy grounds, lanterns flickered.
Not from wind.
From watching.
By second bell, the rune study hall was packed with students and agitated scrolls.
The enchanted parchments refused to behave buzzing like insects, changing fonts mid-sentence, and occasionally flying across the room in open rebellion.
"I swear mine just insulted me," groaned Tomas of Brayhill, holding up a scroll that now read:
Your incantation is derivative, and your posture is worse.
"That's nothing," said his twin sister, Laera, beside him. "Mine set itself on fire when I tried to charm it."
"Maybe it has taste," Arem muttered.
Maria sat at the far table, hands folded, eyes fixed on the glowing glyph in front of her.
It wasn't moving.
It wasn't glowing.
It was watching her.
She leaned forward, just slightly.
The glyph blinked.
Actually blinked.
"That's not supposed to happen, is it?" she asked quietly.
"Nope," Arem said beside her, staring at it too. "That's new. Probably cursed. Definitely cursed."
He slid his chair half an inch farther away.
"It looked at me," Maria whispered.
"Don't make eye contact. That's how it gets you."
Across the room, Professor Enna Grell entered late as usual and looking more put-together than usual. Her robes were embroidered with storm sigils today, which meant either:
She expected a magical incident,
Or she was the magical incident.
"Good morning, my beloved disasters," she announced, sweeping into the room.
"We are continuing glyph mirroring and resonance trials today. Unless the scrolls unionize again, in which case we riot."
A boy raised his hand, twitching.
"Professor, um... is it normal for a glyph to... mimic someone's face?"
"No," she said without looking. "That's a class-six anomaly. Show me."
He turned the scroll around.
The glyph had turned into a faint outline of his face pouting.
Professor Grell stared.
"Congratulations," she said. "You've emotionally imprinted on a first-year rune. I'd say 'fatherhood looks good on you,' but this is alarming."
Students laughed nervously.
She waved her staff and dispelled it.
Then she looked at Maria.
Too long.
Too carefully.
"Miss Velyn," she said, "what happened during your trial?"
Maria froze.
Every eye in the room turned.
Arem stiffened beside her.
"I... don't know," Maria said slowly. "I didn't cast anything. I just wore the mask."
"And it cracked the mirror," Grell said softly.
"Yes," Maria whispered.
"And the mask turned to ash in your hand."
Maria nodded.
Professor Grell tilted her head slightly, studying her like a riddle carved into old stone.
Then
"Happens sometimes," she said cheerfully. "Moving on."
The room blinked.
So did Maria.
Grell flicked her staff at the chalkboard.
"Let's try not to traumatize ancient artifacts today. Pair up."
The room erupted back into motion.
But Maria knew.
The professor was still watching.
At the end of class, as students packed their bags, Arem nudged her.
"She knows something."
"I know."
"Should we worry?"
"Yes."
"Want to skip dueling class and eat cinnamon glass instead?"
Maria hesitated.
Then:
"Tempting."
But when she passed the mirror in the hallway, her reflection lagged behind.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to smile.
Night came early.
The clouds pulled tight over the sky, and the moon barely made it through, just a pale shimmer bleeding against the glass panes of the dormitory.
Everyone else was asleep.
At least, Maria hoped they were.
She sat on the floor of her room, her blanket pulled around her like a shield. Her locket rested in her palm. Cold. Quiet.
Her heart hadn't stopped pounding since the class that morning.
Not fast.
Just... loud.
As if something inside her was knocking.
She pressed the locket to her chest.
"Stop," she whispered. "I'm not ready."
But the quiet didn't answer.
It never did.
The wind shifted outside the window.
Only there was no wind.
Just stillness, strange and total. As if the Academy itself had paused.
She stood, slowly.
Crossed to the window.
Her reflection stared back pale hair loose, her eyes rimmed with shadow. The light outside flickered just once and when it returned...
Her reflection had changed.
It didn't match her breath.
It didn't blink when she did.
It looked... calm.
Like it was waiting for her to catch up.
Her chest seized.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
And then she heard it
A voice.
Inside.
Soft, layered. Not one voice but many, braided together like the night sky speaking in chords.
"You were not born to break, child."
"You were born to bloom."
She gasped.
Stepped back.
Her hands glowed.
Faint gold. Hairline sparks moving just beneath the skin, like starlight trapped in veins.
The floor beneath her pulsed once.
Then again.
The world spun
No
Unraveled.
She fell to her knees.
"Please," she whispered. "Make it stop"
"You begged to remember," the voice answered.
"Now you do."
She cried out but it wasn't a scream.
It was a note.
One single, sharp tone like a thread pulled across time.
And from the air itself, something answered.
A soft, silver thread unspooled from the center of her palm flickering, glowing, swaying gently like it had always been there.
Maria stared.
Trembling.
"What... are you?"
The voice inside her whispered:
"We are you. And we are returning."
And then just as suddenly the light blinked out.
The thread vanished.
The room went still.
Her breath ragged.
Her body shaking.
Her soul
Awake.
From her bed, one of the other girls stirred.
"You, okay?" came the muffled voice of Jessa, sleepy and distant.
"Yeah," Maria said.
Voice hoarse.
Hands still glowing beneath the blanket. "Just... dreaming"